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One that would be perfect to help us take on our next top secret family project.
Dinner moves too quickly, her company so easy, I’m surprised to find I’ve already cleaned my plate.
With the tines of my fork, I point at the last piece of steak on her plate. “Do you want the rest of that?”
“No, thank you. I’m finished.” She pushes the plate toward me. “Go for it.”
She gives me that look that lets me know she’s about to pry. “Ashely said you have a thing about not wasting food. Any particular reason?”
“Yeah. Not having it when I was a kid.” I pop the steak into my mouth. Tender. Flavorful. I would have killed for a meal like this when I was growing up.
“I only eat until I’m full, not having the grace of you guys’ metabolism, but I do know what it means to go without.” Her voice goes to a whisper, her focus on the corner of the cloth napkin she unfolds and re-folds on her lap. “I know the feeling.”
I’m intrigued. How can such a put-together woman have come from desperate circumstances? Scratch that. My background is the reason for my success. It’s probably the same for her.
I want to know more. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”
She shrugs. “You know the story. Single mom, working long hours, couldn’t afford childcare. Couldn’t or wouldn’t, I’m not so sure anymore. The majority of my mother’s budget went to the bars she frequented most nights. My earliest memories are of me being home alone. Making PB&J for dinner, or peanut butter crackers. I wasn’t allowed to use the oven or the microwave. She seemed fine with it, but she must have felt guilty because every so often, she’d leave a bar of milk chocolate on the table.”
“First memories?” I feel my brow crease. “How young?”
“Five? Maybe six?”
Holy shit. I try to picture little Charlie, standing on a stool, trying to reach the kitchen counter to make her own meal. “Is that even legal?”
“Don’t think so.” She gives a sad little laugh. “Mom liked to go out at night. I got myself ready for school. Rode the bus. Teachers would question me when I never showed up to school events and my mom didn’t come to the parent-teacher conferences, but overall, I was a tough little kid, and I took care of myself. So, no one noticed how alone I really was.”
“Unbelievable.” I want to tear her mother to pieces. Who neglects someone as special as Charlie? “Have you forgiven her?”
She nods. “Yes. But I don’t speak to her. Haven’t wanted to for years. Not since I met my real family.”
“Same. Thank the gods for the Bachmans.” My throat goes all tight and I take a sip of my wine.
Thank the gods? I don’t say stuff like that… Why am I opening up? I’ve never discussed my past with anyone. Why her?
But the words still come. “My single mother had priorities other than mothering as well. Mainly drunk men with heavy fists. I left as soon as I realized I couldn’t save her. But when I was young, there were a lot of nights with little to no food on the table.” I take a deep sip of my drink. “It was only when I grew up that I realized it’s not that hard to put food on the table, not if you really want to.”
Her eyes snap up to meet mine. “I’ve had the exact same thought. Word for word. If I had a child, they’d want for nothing…”
Her words trail off, her thoughts most likely going to our pregnancy.
I grab her hand in mine on the tabletop. “Same. Sure, my ways of making money are a little questionable, but I could have provided, would have provided, if I needed to. I would have made it work.”
“Now look at us.” She smiles but her eyes are sad. “Neither of us wants for anything.”
Unspoken truth hangs between us. She wants a baby. I want her. And maybe… I want… a baby, too. Ever since I first heard she was pregnant, I’ve had this nagging little visual of me and Charlie, baby making three, in the back of my mind.
It’s slowly making its way to the forefront.
I lift my glass. “To the Bachmans.”
She lifts her glass, tipping it to clink with mine. “To the Bachmans.”
She takes a long sip of her wine, looking off in the distance as she speaks. “I think that’s what really drew me to the family in the first place. Chosen family. And a gaggle of Beauties. I knew I would never be alone again. Then I lost a fiancé and, on my honeymoon, a husband. But still, I’m not alone. I have the family.”
“Chosen family. I like that.”
“After my first fiancé died, I needed a change. I started going by my middle name, Charlie. And I dyed my hair from blonde to brown, no longer wanting to be that lonely little girl.” She sighs, the rest of the words rushing out of her. “Then my husband died, and I decided I was cursed and gave up on love altogether.”
